Eris Quod Sum
by reinadefuego
Summary: Roan asks his student a question she thought would never come up. Roan&OFC.


It's cold and heavy in her hands. Four and a half pounds of steel he thinks she'll grow tired of carrying around. Four and a half pounds when _empty_ that is, and no Division agent worth their salt would ever carry an unloaded weapon.

There is exactly one bullet in the chamber — she's checked it's there four times now — and twenty-one .50 caliber rounds in the magazine.

Twenty-two bullets between her and death, or pain, depending on who she's captured by. Gogol would naturally want her very much alive and talkative, but Sophie doesn't think it'll ever get that far.

The reality is she won't be carrying it on a regular basis. She just wants to train with it, get used to the weight of it and feel the kickback when it's fired. If she can't handle something as deadly as a Desert Eagle when on the range, there's no chance she'll be able to handle one in the field (if and when something happens).

"Adjust your stance," Roan tells her. There's an underlying smugness to his voice as if he's seen this numerous times before. He has. "Brace yourself."

She adjusts it, but he knows it won't be enough. When she fires the first round, she's stable for a few seconds. It's just enough time for her to see the well-aimed bullet hit the target right before her ass subsequently hits the floor.

"Ow." Sophie groans and sits up. At the rate she's going, she'll be covered in bruises by lunchtime. Everything in here is metal and concrete. It's an old underground bunker that was converted into a facility, and there's only so many ways to land before realising no matter what you try, it's going to hurt when you land. "That's a lot of kickback."

Dealing with cocky agents in training is part and parcel of being the one Birkhoff calls the 'Terminator'. And despite the fact Roan loathes the position of teacher, Percy's framed it as doing himself a favour. If he's the one teaching them, moulding them into what a Cleaner or Guardian should be, there won't be any chance of one going rogue or somehow falling under Nikita's far-reaching influence.

"Have you had enough," he asks, and slides his glasses off to clean them with his shirt, "or do you want to return to sparring?"

"I'm fine." She tries to ignore the gesture and pretend it's anything but him venting frustration. His hand is too tense, thumb too rigid as he wipes away whatever specks of dust are on the lenses. Some days Roan seems so normal, and then other days he'll do something that reminds her he's not.

Reminds her that he is what she will become.

"Have you decided yet?"

As far as she understands her situation, it's Percy that makes the decision. He's the one leading this carnival of horrors. Roan has merely been charged with channelling her potential into something tangible, something that can be used for Division's benefit.

Hesitation is a sign of weakness in her new line of work, so Sophie straightens her back and shifts her feet till they're shoulder-width apart. "Decided what?"

"How you'd prefer to die if you're cancelled."

Her stomach flips itself inside out at the thought. Tension gathers in her calf muscles and her toes press harder into the inner soles of her boots. If they were on the mat, she'd be preparing to kick one of her fellow trainees in the ribs. Down here, however, Sophie feels like she's almost prepared to run.

Roan's never asked her about cancellation before. It hasn't come up, and why would it? With all this talk of Cleaners and Guardians, and a new version of something they call Regimen, the idea of cancellation has been as far from her mind as Percy seems from catching Nikita.

"One bullet," she answers, looking him in the eyes. Her fellow trainees say it's the intensity of his gaze that unnerves them. Sophie doesn't understand how you can be afraid of a man's eyes as opposed to his skills or actions, but there's a good chance they know something she doesn't. "To the back of the head. I'd prefer to get it over and done with."

Huh. Interesting. Roan returns his reading glasses to where they belong and adjusts them so they sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose. "Let's hope you don't get cancelled then," he says, keeping his tone flat, "or it'll be me standing behind you."


End file.
